Paisley Dreams
by Jesse Marshall
Summary: Neville's exhausted from his work at St. Mungo's, but that's the least of his worries. Slashy One-Fic! Enjoy & Review!


_**Paisley Dreams**_

"Mr. Longbottom?" he heard a voice from somewhere far away call him.

Where was that voice coming from? He tried to look over his shoulder, but the room was dark. His eyes moved lazily around, trying to find anything to connect to, but it was impossible. Someone had turned out all the lights. It was almost as if he had gone blind. The thought echoed around in his head, and it terrified him. His heart started to beat erratically.

"Mr. Longbottom, are you alright?" The questioning voice was closer, but he couldn't respond. He couldn't find his mouth.

His head swam away from him. What was wrong? What had he been doing before everything had gone dark?

"I think he's fallen asleep," said the voice. It was much clearer now.

"Go away," he mumbled. He had found his mouth suddenly, and it was an awful feeling.

"He's fine Michelle," said another voice. "How long has he been here?"

"Thirty-nine hours," said Michelle.

Neville cracked open an eye, and light assaulted him without mercy. It stung him and sent a signal to the brain that felt a little like a freight train. Everything was heavy. His arms and neck felt like jelly, and they just wouldn't move. His face grimaced without him knowing, and he squeezed his eye shut tight again. It was too late. He was already awake.

"Alright," said the other voice. "Call his bo- roommate."

This other voice belonged to Neville's best friend and boss, Eric Landaville. He was a tall man who looked like he was perpetually stuck right before his thirty's. His shaggy brown hair was always pulled back and away from his neck, but the effect was like a fluffy rabbit's tail. His face was square, but it made him handsome instead of overbearing. Neville had taken to calling him a coney.

What's his name, sir?" she asked.

"Weasley," he responded.

She smiled, "I'll call him to pick him up then."

Eric nodded his head once, and the pretty blond witch at his side turned to leave.

Neville turned his head to face to the two of them. He had only seen Michelle once or twice, but that was because they usually worked opposite shifts. What was she doing here? How long had he been asleep? He took a quick glance at the clock behind the two intruders and shuddered. He had dozed for three hours.

Neville narrowed his eyes, "Go away, coney, and take her with you."

"You have to go home, Neville. You've been here for two days almost. Plus, Michelle's already left," Eric responded.

"I'm not going yet," Neville said with a glare. "I've still got work to do."

Eric scoffed, "Fat lot of good you're doing here. You're sleeping at your desk."

"I only blinked," Neville challenged, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," Eric said, "You can blink as much as you want at home. You can take a shower while you're there too. You smell like rot."

The older man flashed Neville a winning smile, and gave him a few hard pats on the shoulder. Neville's grimace deepened. He shrugged out of his coat while ignoring the pins and needles rushing down his arms. It was a difficult thing to do, but because he was already grimacing the evil coney didn't notice. Neville took a swig out of a Styrofoam cup, and relished at the bit of coffee that was there; even if it had gone cold.

"I'm not leaving, rodent," he said with a triumphant smile, "So you can just push that silly though out of your head."

"I've already called him, Longbottom," Eric replied.

The younger man's face fell. A look of shock and terror crossed his features.

"You didn't!" Neville exclaimed. He was hoping to call the other man's bluff, but Eric only laughed.

"I had Michelle tell him that you collapsed at your desk, and you weren't responsive," he said with a sly grin.

"You," Neville began, but he couldn't finish the thought.

His eyes wandered over to the clock, and then raced back to his tormentor's face. His lips trembled, and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates. He tried to swallow away a lump in his throat, but his mouth had gone dry.

"When," he managed to croak out.

The coney, evil and deceitful, looked over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. He turned back, smiling widely at the chocolate haired man in front of him.

He licked his lips, "About six minutes ago."

It was too late. In a mere matter of seconds the only thing that Neville feared would be barging through his office door. It would be screaming at him, and demand things from him. It would be extracting all sorts of promises and vows. It would stand there, beautiful as the morning sun, and harsh as the coldest blizzard. It would-

"NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!"

Ron Weasley was standing there in a storm of anger. His cheeks were as red as his hair, and his chest was floundering wildly with his every ragged breath. The twenty-five year-old's bright blue eyes were as cold as ice. His hands were down by his sides, clenched into fists.

"Get your things," he said, "I'm taking you home."

"I-"

"I swear to gods, Neville, if you try to argue with me I will shave you bald in your sleep!" he exclaimed.

Neville nodded, quietly standing up. He paused at his desk, and started looking over some of the papers that were gathered there. He picked a few off the top, and went to put them in his briefcase, but Ron's hand was at once around his wrist.

"You can leave those patient records here," he said through pursed lips. "St. Mungo's isn't going to fall apart without you. Eric can take care of them, can't you Eric?"

"Well actually," Eric began, "I've got a pretty heavy workload."

Ron turned his eyes over to Eric quite suddenly, "I'm sure you'll be able to manage."

"Of course," the older man replied with a nervous laugh. He stood about six inches over Ron, but he was still terrified of the fiery redhead.

Having taken care of that, Ron turned his attention back to Neville, "You're not going anywhere near this place until you've had at least eighteen hours of sleep, understood?"

Neville only nodded.

Ron and Neville arrived back home in silence. The freckled boy walked immediately over to the kitchen, and popped the top off the stove top kettle. He tapped his wand sharply against the rim twice, and water started to flow out of the tip.

"This is the third time this month they've called me, Neville," Ron said, breaking the silence.

"I know," Neville responded.

The redhead popped the top back on the copper kettle, "You work too much."

"I know," Neville repeated.

Ron turned with the kettle still in his hand to glare at him, "You're going to work yourself to death."

He nodded, but didn't say anything this time. This was the usual ritual they would go through. Ron would scream and rant at him for an hour or two, Neville would apologize, and then they would make up. It was usually in a very good way too.

"I love you," Ron said, finally placing the heavy kettle onto the stove burner, "But I'm not going to stay for second place."

Neville's head jerked up. His mouth had fallen agape, and something was suddenly stabbing him in the chest. His hand went up to his heart automatically, as if he were searching for an actual and physical wound. Panic was starting to gnaw away at the back of his brain somewhere.

"What?" he responded lamely.

Ron waved his wand in the shape of the letter 'n', and the burner ignited. Fog rose up on the shiny copper surface of the kettle for just a second, and the next it was completely unblemished again. Ron folded his arms over his chest and leaned back. His head was dipped low, and his long shaggy hair dropped in front of his face.

"I'm going to leave you Neville," he said, "I am leaving you."

Neville ran a trembling hand over his face. It pulled at his skin, and contorted his features. He suddenly felt very old as his eyes wandered around their apartment. Everything that they had built together was there. Everything that they had ever known together was spaced out around these cramped quarters. His eyes were caught up in everything.

Their living room set looked as new as the day they had got it; draped in a green paisley. They had made jokes about it, saying they'd burn it when they could afford better. They'd been able to afford better for a long time now, but something always stopped them from tossing them away. The counter stained with a thousand coffee and tea spills from a thousand rushed mornings. The yellow memo-pad goal list they had drawn up together; still framed and sitting on the window sill.

"I'll quit my job," Neville said suddenly. "I'll quit and we'll get that house. I'll come teach with you at Hogwarts. I'll ask for the herbology position."

Ron shook his head, "No, Neville. I can't. I don't know who you are."

There was a speck of toothpaste on the bathroom mirror that had been there for months. Ron was always messy in the bathroom. Neville had wanted to polish the mirror for a while now, but he had never gotten around to it. Why was he thinking of that? Why was it invading his mind?

"You know me," Neville said anxiously. "You know me better than anyone else. You know me, Ron."

The whistle of the kettle had reached its peak, and Ron quickly took it off the heat. He poured the water into a tea cup he had sat out. The strainer of tea started to color the water. The lithe boy lifted the porcelain cup and took a small sip from the edge. He smiled at the taste, but it was not in a way that suggested happiness. It was a very poignant smile.

"I know that you work, Neville," he said. "I used to know someone with your name and face. He would always come home as early as he could just to sit up and talk with me. He would request the entirety of Christmas break off. He used to know that I lived with him, and that I loved him."

Neville shook his head, "I know that you love me! I know that you live with me!"

"Where have I been the past five nights, Neville? Have you seen me?" Ron asked.

Neville opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He tried again, but his brain wouldn't respond. It wouldn't provide him with the answer. It wouldn't remember where his boyfriend had gone for the last five nights.

And Neville abruptly realized that it was because there was nothing to remember. He had no idea where Ron had been. He hadn't cared enough to ask. No, he had cared. He was sure of that. Wasn't he? Why hadn't he asked then? Why hadn't he worried? Ron worried about him. He worried about him all the time; to the point where it was almost unbearable. So, why didn't Neville know?

They were supposed to go visit Ron's sister tomorrow. She was the only one who knew about them. They were supposed to have tea with her, and now what? What would he tell her? They had to go. They had to see her. He couldn't let her think that…

"We have to see your sister tomorrow," Neville said. His brain was running oddly. It was probably the sleep deprivation.

Ron laughed. It wasn't a mirthful laugh, but sarcastic and a little astounded. His eyes went wide at Neville, and he shook his head back and forth slowly; dubiously.

"That was two weeks ago, Longbottom," he said in amazement.

Neville shook his head, and he didn't know what to say. It seemed his brain was stuck like a jammed cog in a clock.

"I'm sure you haven't noticed," Ron began, "But I've already moved most of my stuff to my mother's. That's where I've been for the last five nights. I'm going to have to get the last of it some other time. It's nothing really important."

Neville nodded, still stunned.

Ron sighed, "Please, get some sleep. You look like you're going to collapse."

The lithe boy crossed away from the stove, and he came to stand directly in front of Neville. He reached his hands up slowly, and wrapped them around the taller man's neck. Very gently, as if he were kissing a child's scraped shin, he kissed Neville's cheek.

"I'll be back for the rest of it later," Ron said again.

Neville could only nod.

"I really did love you with everything I had, you know?" Ron asked.

Neville still could only nod.

Ron's face broke just a little. His nose wrinkled, and his eyebrows slanted down just a bit. His bottom lip quivered a few times, but that was all. He shook his head, and pulled his hands away from Neville. His fingertips brushed his neck as they went past, and they left an intense burning sensation where they touched.

"Goodbye," Ron whispered. His voice was weak and hoarse. He turned to leave.

Neville watched him go. He watched as Ron walked past their goal list, collecting dust on their window sill. He watched as Ron walked past their kitchen counter with the thousands upon thousands of stains. He watched as Ron walked past their bathroom door with the little toothpaste speck on the mirror. He watched as Ron walked past their living room set that would never be burned; that could never be burned. He had watched enough.

In a few quick bound, Neville had crossed that entire expanse and scooped Ron up and into his arms. He could feel the smaller man's tears against his shoulder as he spun him around and to their couch. They landed against the soft fabric of the cushions with Ron wriggling below him. The freckled faced man, or still just a boy, was sobbing whole heartedly now.

"Let me go, Neville," he cried. He was throwing his fists against the other man's back.

"No," Neville responded. "Never again."

Ron was in hysterics, unable to quell the flood of emotions he was going through, "Lemme go, Neville. Gerroff me!"

"I'll never leave you again," was all he said.

Ron's fists were slowing their aggressive attack. His body shook with the heart wrenching sobs he couldn't control. His face was red, and contorted in a very ugly way, but Neville held him there. Neville kissed every single crease and wrinkle. He kissed every tear drop, and every tear streak that he could find. There was nothing he would leave. There was nothing he could leave.

Ron's arms had tightened around the boy's neck, but tears still slid silently down his cheeks. His breathing was erratic and choppy. His chest shook, and the air would hitch halfway down his throat, but he had stopped the wails of protest.

"I won't ever, ever let you go again," Neville said.

"Never again," Ron said.

"Never again," Neville agreed.

Ron shook his head, "Promise me."

"I promise you everything," he replied. "Anything that you could ever want."

Ron gave a watery laugh, "All I want is you."

"Well," Neville began with a big goofy grin, "Then you get all of me."

Ron nodded. His eyes were half closed, and his faced was flushed.

"What have you been doing while I was away?" Neville asked.

For the rest of that night they laid on the ugly green paisley sofa and talked. They were awake as the sun began to rise over the horizon, and when that happened they ignored it. There was no pause in their conversation, there were no breaks, and there was no need to stop; except for those few moments when one would steal a kiss.

When it couldn't be helped any longer, and they fell asleep, they fell asleep wrapped up in each other completely. Like they used to do back when the counter top was perfectly spotless, and they had no goals or ambitions to write down, and the bathroom mirror was polished enough to eat off of. They were together like they had been back when they had to sit on the floor of their living room.

And that way they stayed…

…Just like Neville had promised…

…Forever.


End file.
